


Fugue

by gondalsqueen



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Mid-Season/Series 04 Hiatus, Non-graphic injuries, dream scene, s4e09: Rebel Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gondalsqueen/pseuds/gondalsqueen
Summary: "The thrum of engines beneath her meant that they were in a vehicle, and her lack of attention meant either that she was in the passenger seat, or else that she was in very big trouble. Hera’s unconscious mind turned these facts over."On Pryce's prisoner transport, Hera has a hot minute to plan out what to do next. This gets complicated, since she's not actually awake.This scene takes place immediately after "Rebel Assault," during the season 4 hiatus.





	Fugue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amilyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amilyn/gifts).



> About five minutes after "Rebel Assault," [Amilyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amilyn/pseuds/Amilyn) said, "What is wrong with you people? We just got the most exciting cliffhanger ever. Where's my Hera fanfic?" (I might be exaggerating everything about what she said, so be nice to her.) And I thought, "We-ell...I'd love to write Hera and Kanan blowing things up, but anything I say will be immediately invalidated by the actual show when it resumes. We don't even know where they're taking Hera. I've got about a 15 minute window to work with for writing any stories. And I'm pretty sure she's unconscious. What's really going to happen?" 
> 
> Ami, I tried!
> 
> Also, I'm gifting this to Amilyn in a "congratulations, I got you some extra work!" kind of way, because she very sweetly beta read it for me when I very pointedly asked her to at an absurd hour last night. Thanks, and I still say you have mad skills.

She was riding, not driving. The thrum of engines beneath her meant that they were in a vehicle, and her lack of attention meant either that she was in the passenger seat, or else that she was in very big trouble. Hera’s unconscious mind turned these facts over until it found a plausible memory.

Cham drove the landspeeder. Hera, twelve, sat next to him. He hadn’t slept in three days, working furiously at diplomacy and posturing so that nobody would have to fight, scrambling even faster as his efforts failed. Now they had one more chance—a contact out here in the southern settlements who could pull some strings with off-world military leaders—but Hera had no idea where they were going, and Cham kept nearly nodding off at the wheel.

She shoved her father hard in the shoulder—“Hey!” and he woke sharply.

Hera frowned in disapproval. “Pull over and let me drive.”

“No.” He took a gulp from the thermos of caf. “We are almost there.”

“And you have no idea where you’re going, and you’ve been awake for three days. It’s not safe. Pull over.”

“I said I was driving, young lady.”

She fumed. She was a perfectly capable driver—Cham let her drive herself places. This was nothing but a stupid display of control. He was the father, so he had to be in charge of everything. They would need to find a place to rest, anyway. He couldn’t go into a meeting like this.

Hera examined the datapad in her hand, and before her eyes, the dream filled in a path. “I think we turn right at the Abram pass,” she told her father. “At any rate, the map is still loading, but here’s the pass coming up fast.”

“Right?” asked an exhausted Cham.

“Here,” Hera told him. “Father, now!”

He listened and swung right, accidentally flooring the fuel pedal as they turned into the narrow pass. A sloppy turn, but they made it.

Hera left the dream with a vague feeling of accomplishment and meandered lazily towards consciousness instead of whatever destination her father had in mind.

In the here and now, she knew that she was wearing gloves. Her forefinger twitched, and its broken nail snagged annoyingly at the leather interior. Okay, that way was reality. Her finger, the vibration of the deck plate under her shoulder, the painful hum in her head. No, no, she wasn’t ready to be awake yet. Something was injured. Run away, sink back down into sleep, and they can’t do anything to you. They can’t torture you until you’re awake.

Her dreaming mind ransacked her past for an appropriate next scene. Defeat and physical pain—the first time she’d found herself outclassed in a fight, then. A Trandoshan, a human, and a Twi’lek girl walk into a bar, said a bitter little part of her mind. Stop me if you’ve heard this one.

She hadn’t de-escalated that situation very well, or hadn’t been able to stop it from escalating, at least, and two punches in the Trandoshan had lifted her and slammed her into the ground. She raised her arm to hit back and felt such a sharp pain in her side that she collapsed into a ball instead.

Unable to fight. What did that leave her? She wished fervently that Chopper, at least, would stay out of the way. A droid and a Twi’lek girl walk into a bar—who pulls the best asking price? Stop me if you’ve heard this one.

But Chop, at least, they’d underestimated, and he managed to get them both away from there.

Leaning on Chopper later, sobbing bitterly more in humiliation than pain as she inserted the bone knitter, she took a good, hard look at her own abilities. She hadn’t realized until then that she, Hera, could be too injured to fight back. What was she going to do next time?

What was she going to do _this_ time? The comforting whir that her dreaming mind had taken for Chopper’s motivator changed timbre as she climbed again towards aching awareness. Reality would have to be dealt with at some point. If she couldn’t fight, she would pretend to be more hurt and terrified than she was until she could seize her moment and escape. Time to start the reconnaissance.

But as she thought about opening her eyes, the beacon of pain exploded in her head, and it was too much. She retreated into unconsciousness. The transport’s engine became the hum of ships taking off and returning on Yavin IV’s flight deck, and one of them had brought her whole team, all of them. Kanan had returned. And he’d brought Sabine back to her.

And Ezra, who was raring to go on this Lothal mission, desperate to DO something. They packed up the Ghost on their off shift—they could sleep during the hyperspace jump.

But Hera was also raring to go, so first she pulled Kanan into the alcove behind her x-wing, well in the shadows of the hangar.

He’d laughed against her lips—“Engines humming, Captain?” But he’d also taken his time kissing her back, hungry and intending to savor that meal very, very slowly. His hands left trails of heat down her sides, delightful and aching. Their repertoire was limited in a place like this, though—just some stolen moments and light marks. They needed to find somewhere private very soon.

After the mission.

She remembered the mission then, and the second wave of TIEs coming at them, so many spread across the sky that she got the sensation of standing still, even on full throttle. Damage control, Hera. Damage control, damage control, think of something NOW.

“Break,” she’d told Mart. “Behind me!”

“Repeat, General?”

She knew what he was wondering. Staying behind her gave them little tactical advantage. In front of her, she could guard him from any rear attacks while he took out the enemy with those perpetually forward-facing guns.Not right now, though. Today their best offense was running as hard as they could.

“Behind!” she repeated, and this kid she’d trained to be a good soldier--he just did what she told him to do. He hit the brakes then started a wild dive towards the Imperial Shipyard. The TIEs moved to intercept, opening fire. But Hera was too good for them, pivoting the flat of her X-wing’s belly straight into the line of fire. This would have worked better in the Ghost. Thank the Force that the Ghost was safe.

She’d taken damage. That’s right--that was real. And then… In a flash she remembered everything about her present circumstances, and the mortification brought her around at last. Oh stars, she was being taken in for questioning. And she still had Kanan’s hickeys on her neck.

She would laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.

She could assess the damages now--her arm, her side (probably only ribs), and more disturbingly, something wrong with her head. And she’d failed. Lothal would mass produce the TIE Defenders, and she didn’t have a single fighter to stop them with.

At least she could protect the Rebellion from herself. She had to shut down these memories, scrub all signs of them out of her mind even if she couldn’t do much about her body at this point. She couldn’t give them any context to use against her.

What had Kanan called her back on Yavin? “Hera Syndulla, Freedom Fighter.” Yes. She’d be that.

Yavin. Better shut up, Hera.

The feel of the ship changed again, slowing as they neared their destination. She assessed her capabilities. Rough, but completely awake at last. And still Hera Syndulla, she reminded herself. That felt better. She could still plan. She wasn’t out of options, yet. Think of this as...an attack run, she decided. The battle isn’t over.  

Where had they taken her? The governor’s complex? A detention facility? Oh please oh please let it be the shipyards.

Kanan was coming, for better or worse--she knew it as surely as she knew her own mind. And Pryce was escorting her into the Imperial facilities on Lothal through the front gate. She knew who she would meet when she got there.

Remember me, Thrawn? She wouldn’t tip her hand by saying it aloud, but he couldn’t stop her from thinking it. Go ahead, invite me in. I know how to blow things up from the ground, too.  


End file.
